


Put Your Hands On Me

by littlelostcat



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Just Sex, M/M, PWP, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Power Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-07
Updated: 2013-03-07
Packaged: 2017-12-04 15:16:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/712189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlelostcat/pseuds/littlelostcat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles has always had a fantasy: to use wolfsbane as he fucks Derek.  Derek catches him with a bag of wolfsbane and sex ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Put Your Hands On Me

Stiles isn’t sure when they moved from enemies to frenemies to friends. He isn’t sure when they moved to friends to friends-with-benefits. But the point is that he and Derek are having sex with surprising regularity; as in his masturbation routine has totally dropped. By, like, a third. 

But sometimes you want things you can’t actually ask your not-boyfriend-but-it’s-easier-and-less-demeaning-than-fuck-buddy and there are things that are just Not Going To Happen. Things like: what it would be like to be the werewolf in the fucking situation, what it would be like to have Derek bite him mid-orgasm. Things like Derek pulling his arms back while Stiles rode him to orgasm. Things like wolfsbane being used when they’re having sex.

Yeah, that last one especially is a No. Because wolfsbane and alpha werewolf. But the thing is, somehow (and Stiles will go to his grave with the knowledge) Stiles acquired a small bag of powered wolfsbane that he keeps in his desk drawer. It’s right next to the bestiary file and his emergency sack of mountain ash. And sometimes he picks the plastic bag and holds it to the light, thinking about it. Sometimes he thinks about gripping Derek's hips with wolfsbane covered hands and bruising him, so that the next time they see each other the prints are still there. And sometimes his cock twitches at the thought and he has to purposely put the bag down and ignore the tent in his pants.

 

He has the bag opened, the furthest he’s actually gone because of the smell of it. It reeks every to him and he's sure a werewolf would be able to smell traces of it even hours hour. And, besides, Derek would be livid. But Derek is brooding somewhere not here and Stiles is horny right here. He dips a finger into the bag and feels the coarse powder against his skin, it’s like silken sand. 

“Stiles,” Derek says from behind him. He’s seated on the windowsill and ready to bolt, and Stiles very carefully turns around. He might be surprised but he’s not jerking his hand and he's not losing this powder because Derek decided to be a creeper. He looks from Derek to the bag in his hand then back and swallows, then licks his lips.

“I can explain,” he rushes and takes a step closer. Derek holds a hand up, silencing him, and stands. ”Wait.”

“No,” he frowns and takes a step closer to Stiles, eyes glued to the powder. ”Is that … what I think it is?”

“If you think it’s wolfsbane,” Stiles laughs weakly around the word, “Then yes. But just, you know, emergency wolfsbane.”

“Emergency,” Derek repeats. His eyes haven’t left the baggie and Stiles can hear his own heartbeat hasten. Please don’t hate me, he thinks. His fingers twitch when Derek takes another step closer. 

“Yeah,” Stiles nods his head in jerky movements, “Emergency.”

“What was the emergency now?” and finally Derek flicks his glance to Stiles’ face and Stiles can feel his cheeks redden. 

“I was,” he licks his lips and looks at the bag, then desperately around his room, “I was going to take a walk. In the woods.”

“My woods?” Derek dips his head and breathes against the ear of Stiles’s ear.

“No,” Stiles laughs slightly hysterically. ”The other woods.” He jerks when Derek’s wide palm flattens against his stomach and slides beneath his shirt. He’s hard already, damnit, and had been since he took the damned bag from his drawer.

“Do you usually go out like this?” Derek asks, his nails scratching down from Stiles’s belly to his hips. 

“No,” Stiles answers and when did it become a fucking sauna in his room? He swallows and tries to catch his breath when Derek’s other hand slides from his elbow to his wrist and circles it.

“What do you do with it, Stiles?”

He closes his eyes, he has to really, because he can’t look at Derek. Then Derek tsk’s and tightens both hands. Stiles takes a step closer and feels Derek’s erection brush his thigh. Oh God, he thinks and nearly whimpers.

“You,” he whispers. ”I think of you.”

“What do you think?”

“I,” he swallows and he’d bunch his fist if Derek wasn’t cupping his hand and the powder. “I think about wrapping my hand around your throat,” his breath hitches when Derek’s hand, hot and broad, moves from his wrist to his throat. ”I think about fucking you.”

“Yeah?” he blinks his eyes open and finds Derek staring at him. “You want to use me, Stiles? Use this on me? Do you want to make me weak for you?”

Stiles tries to take a step back but Derek tightens his hold around his throat and he can’t stop the startled gasp. He’s doomed, he flicks a glance at the damned purple bag then looks back to Derek and nods. ”yes”

Suddenly he’s cold; Derek has released him and taken a few steps back, he’s suddenly back to leaning against the window with crossed his arms and ankles. And he is now looking at him and the bag. ”Ask me.”

 

“What?” Stiles’ voice does _not_ go up an octave. It does _not_ come out as a squeak. Derek quirks an eyebrow and looks at the bag. Stiles swallows and takes a small step closer, careful to keep his distance. If he’s going to die, he thinks, he might as well die like a pornstar hero.

“I want to fuck you. I want to hold you down and wrap wolfsbane-covered hands around your neck until you’re trembling, run them down your body to your hips. I want to squeeze bruises into your skin that hurt when you touch them later. Bruises that your fucking werwolf healing won't fic right away. I want you to see them later and think of me. I want to fuck you until you can't think of anything but me inside of you.”

“Okay.”

“What?”

“I said, okay,” Derek replies, he eyes the bag in Stiles’ hand and his nose scrunches in a way that is most definitely _not_ endearing. He takes a step forward and his hand hovers by the bag in Stiles’ hand. He then cups his hand under Stiles’ and toys with the string of Stiles’ sweatpants. ”I trust you, Stiles.”

And suddenly Stiles doesn’t want to do this anymore. He doesn’t want to think about wolfsbane and power plays. He wants Derek to whisper those three words over and over as he fucks into him. And isn't that the kicker of this not-boyfriend-but-more-than-fuck-buddies _thing_. Instead he swallows and tightens his hold. ”Say it again.”

“I trust you,” Derek whispers and lightly slides his hand beneath Stiles’ waistband and spirals his finger on Stiles’ hipbone. ”What do you want me to do?”

“Takes your jeans off,” Stiles commands, his voice shakes slightly but he puts that on the fact that Derek’s body is already hot and his nipples are definitely hard nubs waiting to be tasted. They keep their eyes on one another and from the corner of his eye Stiles can see the muscles in Derek’s shoulders move and hears the _snag_ and _slack_ of denim hitting the floor. Derek then takes a step closer and it takes everything in Stiles not to look down. Because, boyfriend-friend-frenemy-fuck-buddy-now-trusted-fuck-buddy-definitely-closer-to-boyfriend or not, Derek Hale is a beautiful man. With flawless skin that always tightens when Stiles touches him, his skin that literally responds to Stiles’ touch. 

Stiles licks his lips and looks down, he’s human alright? 

He takes one of his fingers and slides it into Derek’s mouth, swallows heavily when Derek takes a step closer and hollows his cheeks around him. When he slides it free a slick _pop_ sounds in the room and Stiles wonders, briefly, at his life right now. He dips his finger into the bag and he watches Derek watch the movement; tracking him when he stops over Derek’s chest. Hovers over the line of skin that runs between the muscles of his chest and stomach, and then he drops his finger and runs it straight down. 

Derek hisses and straightens his body, tensing his arms, and Stiles has a flash of fear and lust. And he is so fucked in the head right now to be getting off on this.

He wipes his finger on his sweats and thinks he should have brought something to wash his hands off. Instead he leans down and licks a line parallel to the wolsfbane and if Derek’s hand grips his ass and head, he’s not going to argue. But then he stands and pushes Derek back a step.

“On the bed,” he says. And a thrill races along his spine as Derek takes a step back, then another, and finally his knees hit the back of the bed and he falls onto his elbows. He crawls back until he’s laying flat and Stiles shakes his head. ”No. Back against the wall.”

And, god bless the gods of sex, Derek obeys without hesitation. His eyes are locked on Stiles’ and when Stiles moves to put the bag down, Derek freezes. When Stiles straightens with bag in hand, Derek continues until his back is flush to the wall and his legs are spread wide.

“Take those off,” he gestures to Derek’s black boxer briefs; and his mouth waters when Derek’s erection slides from under the cotton to rest on his belly. 

He crawls onto the bed and settles on his between Derek’s legs, takes two fingers this time and dips them into the bag. He looks at Derek and looks for anything tell him to stop. All he sees is wanton lust and arousal. He circles Derek’s left nipple, scratches his nail over the nub and leans over to bite and suckle on the other. Derek strains against him, cursing his name, and linking one leg over his calf. He grinds up and his chest rumbles when Stiles pinches his nipple, the powder falling sprinkling with the movement, and bites down at the same time. Stiles grins and pulls back, looks up, and Derek’s eyes are flashing red. But his leg pushes Stiles on, pushes him closer.

He puts the bag on the table beside them and dips his fingers back in, scratches his nails over the already powdered skin. And Derek, again, thrusts up and whimpers Stiles' name. 

Stiles pulls back and settles on his ankles. Derek’s body is covered in a sheen of sweat that Stiles knows is a mixture of lust, pain and restraint. And wolfsbane. He nods his head to the table. ”Open the drawer and get yourself ready.”

Derek swallows and opens his mouth but Stiles cut him off, slides his mouth over Derek’s and licks his tongue against Derek’s. ”I want to watch you fuck yourself before I take you, _Alpha_.”

Derek doesn’t say anything and Stiles wonders if the red eyes are from the wolfsbane or something else. For the sake of his sanity in this moment, he is going to blame the wolfsbane. Then Derek surges forward and the kiss is angry, messy, and too pornographic for Stiles to do anything but dig his fingernails into Derek's hips and kiss him again. He pulls his shirt off and kicks his sweats off, thankful that StilesTime usually means CommandoTime, and watches Derek sit back. He pops the lid and before he can slick his fingers Stiles catches his wrist, and sucks three fingers whole. He watches Derek and, if his mouth wasn’t full, he’s smile when Derek drops the tube and his other hand bunches the sheet. He wonders if he can make Derek’s claws come out tonight. For the record, that's only happened once and they'd been outside at the time.

He pulls off and he knows how he must look, wet lips and lust-blown eyes. His hair is everywhere and he can feel a drop of sweat slide from his neck to his chest. ”I want you to fuck yourself with _these_ three fingers.”

Derek nods and pulls the lube and coats the fingers, lightly and that alone has Stiles hardening more. He watches Derek’s hand stop at his cock and Stiles smirks, leans down and licks the tip and the precome that’s pearled there. ”Three times, Derek,” he whispers and each time Derek’s hand slides up his own cock, Stiles slips his tongue out and licks the tip. On the final jerk he licks around the head.

Derek groans and Stiles pulls back up, reaches for the lube. At Derek’s confused look he shakes his head. ”Pay attention to what you’re doing.” He watches Derek's fingers trace his hole, then he slides one finger past the rim.

Stiles covers his finger with lube and traces a shape on his chest, then his breath hitches when Derek spreads his legs wider and his wrist grazes Stiles’ cock. Derek leans his head back and skips the second finger, starts fucking himself with all three -- fast and too hard. Before he can stop himself Stiles had leaned forward, licking and biting his way around Derek’s neck. 

He feels his body flush and his cock fill, because in a few minutes he’ll be replacing that sweat and saliva with wolfsbane and Derek will just be taking it. Taking what He gives him. He pulls back and pushes himself closer. ”Stop.”

Derek stills, fingers half inside, and eyes wide. Stiles takes the sight in and _holy God_ Derek Hale is a vision of porn. He locks the thought away and looks at Derek. ”Faster.”

And Derek groans, can’t seem to help moving into and up to his fingers.

Stiles grabs the bag and, carefully, sprinkles the powder over his chest. He can feel it sticking to his sweat and to the lube, and he catches Derek’s eye. He expects Derek to stop, to hesitate. He expects him to stop _him_. He doesn’t expect him to groan and spread himself further, spreading until his foot hits the floor.

Stiles fists his hand and spreads the remaining lube onto his fingers pours the powder there, then leaves the bag on the table. 

“Stop.” He nods down. ”Out.”

And, again, Derek obeys without hesitation. His hand moves to Stiles’ hip and that touch should be enough to stop any hesitation Stiles might have had. But he looks up and his hand stills over Derek’s stomach. The muscles beneath his hand are tightened, he looks down and can see the skin around Derek’s ass pink and the muscles puckering. His cock his flush and angry on his belly.

“Derek,” he whispers. Derek leans up, presses them chest to chest and groans and whimpers against Stiles’ mouth; he hisses and then pushes harder against Stiles. His whimpers are a mess of wet sounds against Stiles’ mouth and neck, his hands pulls at Stiles' back and hips. 

He moves. His hands slide up Derek’s chest and circles his throat and, with his other hand, he lines him up and fucks into Derek in a single motion. They still and Derek’s head falls back. The skin at his throat thrums purple and Stiles is enthralled, he can’t tear his eyes away and his hips jerk. He feels Derek’s leg pull him closer and Stiles lets out a stuttered breath.

“Stiles,” he grounds out, his body shaking. His eyes are flickering blood red and dazed green, and one hand is fisted beside them while the other is at the base of Stiles’ skull. He can see distinct tears in his sheets and that’s what moves him. 

He starts fucking into Derek in rough beats, skin slapping loudly between them, and each time he bottoms out he tightens his grip around Derek's throat. Derek’s cock jerks between them and leaks a wet trail that mixes with the sweat and wolfsbane. And each time Derek meets him, his leg has wrapped around Stiles’ thigh, he’s pushing for _harder_ and _more_. And his eyes are closed and his head his back. 

And Stiles can feel himself losing it. He can feel his body shaking and his grip is slipping on their sweat and the lube. 

“Stiles,” Derek moans and Stiles will swear until dawn that it’s a breathy mewl. ”Please.”

He takes his other hand, clean from the purple dust that is sprinkled around them, and fists Derek’s cock. He tightens his grip and pulls in a rough beat that matches his thrusts, fucking Derek and his cock until Derek is trembling and arching beneath him. 

Stiles moves his hand from Derek’s throat and rests his weight on the bed beside them, he leans down and bites Derek’s jaw. Bites his ear. ”Come for me, Alpha. Come on, Derek.” 

And, god, Derek freezes beneath him. His body taut and rigid, and then his ass is clenching around Stiles and he's coming in thick stripes between them. It’s too much, the heat and the tightness. The way the powder flashes purple, the way Derek's body is flushed red. The way Derek gasps his name and completely surrenders _for him_. 

And then Stiles is coming, he can feel his cum slicking down but he doesn’t stop moving. Not until he’s spent and Derek’s leg slides from him. He falls to the side, and just breathes in stuttering breathes. 

“Come here,” Derek whispers, his voice gravelled with sex and strain, and bites and licks his way from Stiles’s jaw to his chin to his mouth. He cringes away when the lube and wolfsbane touch his skin and Stiles pulls back.

“Derek,” he starts and everything crashes into him. He can’t get his breath and his knows he went too far when Derek jerks back and a wounded sound comes from his throat. His sheets, he’s embarrassed to say, are toast and practically covered in poison. Doubt and guilt are beginning to slide into the exhaustion. 

“Sensitive,” Derek mumbles and Stiles gets up from the bed and goes to the bathroom. He stops when he catches himself in the mirror; his body is a mess of purple lines and specks. His cheeks are flushed red and his hair is standing at all ends. And his body is shining in sweat and spent lube. 

He sees Derek standing the doorway and freezes, the water washcloth almost to his chest. He wants to shut the door, he wants to shut the stupid wolfsbane fantasy away. Because _this_ shouldn’t feel wrong.

Derek doesn’t say anything when he walks in or when he closes the bathroom door behind him, and Stiles readies himself. Derek stands behind him and runs the washcloth from Stiles’ collarbone to his belly, again then once more. Slowly he moves the cloth from his belly to his cock and, gently, wipes him clean. 

Stiles watches, eyes locked on the Derek’s hands in the mirror, as Derek wets the cloth again and starts low then works his way back up. Up and around Stiles’ neck and he can’t help but lean his head back on Derek’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers against Derek’s skin. He jerks when Derek freezes and he feels Derek’s body tense. He should step away, although Derek has him trapped against the counter. 

Derek turns him and he hears the water flow again behind him as Derek washes it clean, then he hands Stiles the cloth.

He catches Stiles’ chin in his hand and pulls until Stiles looks him in the eye. ”If I wanted you to stop,” he whispers, “I would have.”

His other hand leads Stiles’ down his chest and lavender colored tendrils smoke up when the water hits them. Stiles nods and wants to say something, anything. He pulls back and focuses on tracing his way down Derek’s body. The purple is gone and soft pink welts are left in the shapes of Stiles’ hand and fingers, in speckled dots and lines.

“Stiles,” Derek says, and he sounds far too relaxed for someone who was literally covered in torture and sweat and sex. He looks up and Derek steps between them, one leg sliding between Stiles’. He stills Stiles’ hand with his and kisses him, slowly and softly. Too softly. 

Stiles closes his eyes and fists his hand, drops the cloth and pulls Derek closer by the back of his neck. ”I’d never hurt you,” he whispers harshly into Derek’s mouth and Derek kisses him quiet.

“I know,” he says when they pull back. He hands have moved to hold Stiles still. ”I trust you.”

He bends down and leaves the cloth in the sink behind Stiles and pulls him from the bathroom, across the hall, into the bedroom where the torn sheets are balled in the corner of the bed and the under sheet is a mess of purple and wetness.

“Get new sheets,” Derek says with a smile. He links his fingers with Stiles’ and squeezes. ”I’ll get these off.”

He waits a minute, takes a breath, and goes back into the hallway for more sheets. Alone he closes his eyes and thinks about the fact that their little arrangement has just made a huge change. 

When he comes back into his room Derek is pulling on a pair of his boxers and cocks an eyebrow as Stiles huffs and redresses the bed. ”I’ll do it,” he grumbles, trying for normalcy. ”That’s fine. And, sure, you can borrow those.”

“I’m still sensitive,” Derek smirks and points a hand to his chest, where the pink welts are disappeared back into flawless skin. He rolls his eyes when Stiles freezes and opens his mouth. ”I’m kidding.” He nudges Stiles back against the desk chair and, hungrily, kisses him. He keeps a hand at the base of Stiles’ neck. ”I want to watch you fix the bed we're about to sleep on.”

He rolls his eyes, he can’t help it, and immediately feels the tension leave his body. Somehow that simply touch has righted, or almost righted, his fucked up head. ”You want to watch me make my bed?” He doesn't ask about staying the night. Because Derek usually _doesn't_.

“I want to want you lean over the bed you just fucked me on, I want to watch you spread your legs and let me see you.” Stiles swallows and feels his cock twitch weakly between them, “I want to watch you pull and straighten the sheets until I could bounce a quarter off it. Or you.”

Stiles blinks and nods, his fingers tighten on the sheets between them. ”Cleaning kink, huh?” he nods and leans into Derek’s touch at his waist. ”Okay. Weirdo.”

Derek smirks and stands back, he leans against the desk while Stiles swallows and starts folding the sheet over the mattress. He puts on a show, figures it's easier to wiggle his hips than think about the small bag still open on his table. He glances over his shoulder and sees Derek’s smirk deepen, Derek's cock is already halfway tenting the boxers and Stiles' smirk turns into a grin. He leans over, dramatically spreading his legs and lets out a strained gasp as he reaches across the bed.

**Author's Note:**

> I posted this originally on Tumblr and didn't think I'd post it here but -- I want everything together :)
> 
> Come and find me on Tumblr! [Little Lost Cat](http://littlelostcat.tumblr.com)
> 
>  
> 
> All mistakes are, obviously, my own.


End file.
